Ab Roller: Expensive but worthless
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The Ab Roller infomercial reeled me in somehow, and I just can't let myself forgive myself for the forty dollars, plus shipping and handling, I wasted on it. I used to be pretty fit and pretty toned sophomore year, just two short years ago. That is, until I got knee surgery and quit the varsity diving team all within a span of three months. Every day, I would spend a half-hour jogging on the treadmill and do my usual 200-500 sit-ups. So, you may ask, why would someone like me even consider something so ridiculous as a piece of plastic that claims to (tone your back and shoulders, strengthen your arms and chest, all while tightening your abdominals and obliques?)
Well, there I was, sitting on a couch alone in Aspen, Colorado, feeling sorry for myself and how out of shape I was. After all, I hadn't really exercised since my knee surgery. I also couldn't ride my bike up a hill without huffing and puffing — maybe it was the altitude, maybe it was the steepness of the hill or maybe I was just really out of shape. I turned on the TV at three in the morning for lack of anything better to do at that late hour or early (depends on how you look at it), and was immediately drawn in by the perfectly chiseled men and women who were pointing out the benefits of using the Ab Roller.
Famous people boasted about its amazing qualities; in fact I think Suzanne Somers was the main sponsor of the infomercial. Suzanne Somers sponsors a wealth of athletic equipment and has probably never used any of it — I should have known what I was getting myself into. Gorgeous men walked hand in hand with bikini-clad women.
As I popped another Boulder potato chip (by the way, the brand's salt and vinegar chips are to die for) into my mouth and glanced down at my flabby stomach, I started buying into the commercial. I too could have hot guys fighting over me in my bikini if I bought the Ab Roller, I thought. It made sense to me at the time, at least. And I only had to use it for three minutes a day to look like the people in the infomercial? Wow, sign me up!
I would be in shape in no time. No more sit-ups, no more free-weight lifting. One little plastic machine on wheels was the answer to all of life's problems. So I thought.
There was no sense in calling the number at three in the morning. I memorized the number, hoping that I would remember it later — I wasn't about to get up from my potato chips and comfortable couch just to jot down a number for a silly little Ab Roller. First thing I did the next day was call the number that had appeared on the screen about twenty times within the hour-long infomercial. I was almost disappointed that Suzanne Somers wasn't answering on the other end. A bland matter-of-fact voice answered and took down my order like I was the fiftieth person to call that day. I waited and waited for the day when my Ab Roller would find its way to my door.
The box was surprisingly small. The blue plastic Ab Roller looked like something I could have thrown together myself for the price of ten dollars, but I decided to give it a whirl anyway. I tried it three times, didn't feel a thing — no, not in my arms, back, or stomach. Promises of a hard stomach became empty promises. I was severely disappointed to say the least. It was my first attempt at buying an infomercial product and my last.
I am convinced that the perfect bodies on the infomercial have never touched the Ab Roller a day in their lives. They spend no less than five hours a day at the gym using high-tech equipment. Anything that can't be fixed with starving themselves and working out is easily fixed with liposuction.
For now, I think I'll stick to eating instead of trusting a three-minute 'miracle' to solve all my problems. It's difficult not to buy into the happy beautiful slim people on the infomercials.
Just two months ago, I was duped into buying a membership at Bally's Total Fitness Club. I'll let you know how that goes …